


Twenty Steps Towards Humanity

by grayscale



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:27:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayscale/pseuds/grayscale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fuji has always hated boredom, but over time, he learns that there are more important aspects to life than entertainment.  "Twenty Things" meme for Fuji Syuusuke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty Steps Towards Humanity

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my takes on the "Twenty Things" meme that was popular back in the day. I found it particularly fun to do for Prince of Tennis characters because so few of them are very thoroughly developed. Written in 2009.
> 
> **Warning!** This fic mentions incest. If this is upsetting to you, please be forewarned!

1) Fuji hates boredom. That's not to say he can't handle it, and things that bore more people aren't necessarily boring to Fuji-- school, for instance, might not be scintillating, but the teachers' lectures hold Fuji's attention well enough that, if he stares out the window and daydreams while listening to them, it isn't so bad. 

It's life, really, that bores Fuji, and that's the problem; usual things that normally entertain people his age, things like going out to eat and seeing movies, those sorts of things don't entertain him at all. It's extremely difficult to stimulate Fuji emotionally or intellectually, and as such, media really holds no interest with him in general-- he's far too apathetic to hold any stock in the fickle cares of the characters. He doesn't really understand how sitting back and watching something like that, something entirely disconnected and irrelevant to anything real, could hold anyone's attention, but, he supposes, the masses are ignorant and stupid. But it's not the same for Fuji, Fuji needs to participate, needs to control, to catalyze, to experiment in order to be amused. 

Tennis is the ideal medium for Fuji to do any of this, and so Fuji sticks with tennis. He has no real attachment to the sport itself; it's the mobility and the people to play with that keep him on the Regulars. After high school, he has no intention of playing tennis with any seriousness at all.

2) Just because he needs to participate in something for it to be interesting, however, doesn't mean that Fuji likes things to happen _to_ him. He wants to be in the midst, yes, but really, he wants to be the one in control. Sitting back and watching is so much more fun when he's set everything in motion-- in fact, he takes great pleasure in setting the parts in motion and watching his machine move. He loves to be surprised, loves an unusual outcome, but he doesn't like his power to be jeopardized, really jeopardized. When he chooses to relinquish his control-- well, he's not really losing control, then, is he? But if he wants power, he's going to keep it, and he won't stand for it to be taken from him.

To a great degree, tennis is so perfect for his little games because tennis comes perfectly easily to him. After all, tennis isn't really anything serious-- but to watch his opponents squirm, to see them struggle, like cornered prey-- that gives Fuji such a thrill that he feels that tennis is very, very wonderful indeed. 

3) God only knows, Fuji could really be a revolutionary tennis player if he ever applied himself. He could probably become one of the top of the world, if he tried. But Fuji never tries, has never, ever tried, and never really plans to. After all, why should he bother? Without even trying, he can accomplish what Echizen Ryoma, Miracle Boy of middle school tennis, Pillar of Seigaku, worked on with his freak of a father for years and years and years, without even trying, he can come up with moves, spur of the moment, that others will try for months to imitate without any success. Why should he apply himself when he doesn't have to? Sure, he's gotten serious before in a pinch, but that doesn't mean that he has to stay serious. He just doesn't care enough. He knows this doesn't please Tezuka, but they've eventually come to an understanding. Fuji gets what he wants out of it, and that's enough for him. 

4) When he first came into the Seigaku tennis club, Fuji almost immediately set his sights on Tezuka. He was fascinating-- talented, strong, determined, and with such strong, strict moral sense. Freshman year, he mostly sat back and watched, but when, at the beginning of eighth grade, it became clear that Tezuka was going to be captain, Fuji set his sights for sure. After all, being the main squeeze of the captain of the tennis team would be fun, at least for a while, and it would, if Fuji played it right, give him a new power that he couldn't ever really get on his own-- sway over the entire team. Perhaps this was a desire that had been impressed on him in his youth from the common literary theme of the wicked stepmother or the manipulative wife of royalty, but whatever the reason, Fuji liked the thought. 

However, almost as soon as he began his efforts, he realized he had misjudged entirely. Tezuka's strictness, his morality, as well as his absolute stubborn determination extended far deeper than Fuji had originally guessed-- in essence, he would not be swayed, not by anyone, and certainly not by Fuji's then-amateur efforts at seduction. Almost before he started, Fuji lost interest and gave up.

5) Fuji has always been aware that he was prettier than most-- girls or boys, really-- and, as far as he can remember, has always known how to use it to his advantage. When he was in grade school, he discovered, he could really get away with anything because, with one smile, any teacher would believe he was entirely innocent, and later on, in fifth or sixth grade, he was delighted to find that he could make most any boy run any errand for him-- dance like a puppet on strings. 

After Tezuka, it was a while before Fuji found another target for his seductions, but, in the meantime, he practiced. After all, now that he was in middle school, it wasn't like elementary school-- watching boys running around for him, all flustered that he had smiled at them, was cute, but Fuji had his sights set higher now. And there were plenty of boys in Seishun Gakuen for him to practice on, so, after Tezuka, practice he did. 

6) In a trip back to visit old friends, Fuji ended up losing his virginity to Saeki. Saeki was one of the boys, in elementary school, who would have done anything for him, and Fuji had really liked Saeki the best, out of all of them, even maybe respected him, a little bit, though it was hard to respect someone who was so entirely smitten with you that he hung on your every word like you had said something profound. But Fuji had been the closest to Saeki and so he stayed the night at Saeki's, and one thing had led to another had led to Fuji pressed back against Saeki's bed and Saeki flushed and panting above him, and Fuji had let it be, because, hell, he had never had sex before, and he knew sex was a useful tool to have, so he might as well get started on learning now. 

It was awkward and fumbling and unskilled, as first times often are, and Fuji lays back and lets Saeki do the work because that's what Saeki wanted, and, this way, Fuji could take better mental notes, anyway. He was surprisingly coherent during the whole thing-- people always made it out to seem so much less controlled, but Fuji experienced no complete loss of mental function, no sensation so overwhelming he lost all fine motor skills, despite all that Saeki seemed to struggle. It was kind of a disappointment, but, at the same time, Fuji was a little glad to stay in control, despite how interesting the other option might have been.

Once Saeki fell asleep, Fuji carefully wriggled out of his arms, cleaning himself in the bathroom before carefully tucking himself into the guest futon on the floor. In the morning, Fuji was surprised to discover a stunning miscalculation on his part-- if Saeki had been interested in him before, he was near infatuated now, and had all sorts of ideas about dating and relationships and things that Fuji had never been intending. And though he was gentle and painstakingly carefully spent the next two months driving a wedge of distance and lack of common interest between then, he's aware that Saeki has never fully gotten past him, and, for this reason, tries his best to avoid talking, thinking, or going about Rokakku as much as possible. 

7) Fuji does not associate sex with love, nor love with obligation (though sometimes sex is associated with obligation), but, after the incident with Saeki, he has realized that a lot of people confuse these three things on a regular basis. It's helpful to him, in the end, but he's still awed, sometimes, that people can so easily merge three concepts so discrete in his mind. He knows people are stupid-- he's experienced it so many times before-- but it still floors him, on occasion. 

8) Eiji is one of those people who mixes the three, Fuji knows: Eiji has sex with the one he loves and no one else, and he is in a tightly monogamous relationship-- a fact with which he has absolutely no qualms. Fuji tried, once, to ask him about each concept as a separate item, but it went entirely, _entirely_ over Eiji's head, and Fuji never tried again. It was sweet, really, in a way, and sometimes, Fuji felt a strange aching sensation in his chest as he watched Eiji's face light up with delight when Oishi said something so stupidly simple as, "I love you;" when he saw Eiji place his hand in his boyfriend's before the two headed home together, as always. It was back at the beginning of eighth grade; Fuji wrote it off as patronizing amusement even though he knew it wasn't.

9) To be honest, when they first met, Fuji couldn't _stand_ Kikumaru Eiji. He was just plain _stupid_. He was so dense, so straightforward that Fuji couldn't even manipulate him; it just didn't work, didn't process in that empty head. But, as, across the weeks, months, he watched with condescension, he couldn't help but noticed the sweetness, the naivete, the innocence inherent in everything Eiji did, and it grew on him like a very persistent ivy until he found himself in something of a mutually beneficial relationship with Eiji. Or rather, it was beneficial to Eiji because Fuji helped him with homework and things, but for the life of him, Fuji couldn't figure out what was in it for him. 

It was Eiji who informed him it was friendship. It was a first for Fuji, but he decided he liked it, and has always had a special love in his heart for Eiji since then. It's the sort of love that doesn't often manifest in Fuji-- stringless, pure caring for Eiji's happiness. Eiji is one of the people for whom Fuji knows he could be driven to do physical harm-- Fuji thinks Oishi knows this, too, because he always seems a little uneasy when Fuji opens his eyes in his general direction. Fuji entirely approves of Oishi, of course, because he makes Eiji happy, but that doesn't mean that Oishi's fear is unfounded. Fuji hopes that Oishi never really makes Eiji cry, because it would be awkward to have to tell Eiji that he'd killed his boyfriend.

10) Another person for whom Fuji cares unconditionally is his baby brother. He always has, ever since youth, and it really does upset him that Yuuta so dislikes him. If he could, Fuji would probably give his tennis talent to Yuuta (though it would make life a little more difficult)-- he knows how much it means to him, how much Yuuta wants to go pro, and it's a little sad, since Fuji cares so little. Still, since he can't trade tennis talents, he does everything he can, behind the scenes to make Yuuta happy, to watch over him-- the little things, like asking their mother to prepare foods Yuuta likes and anonymously sending Yuuta useful gifts at school. 

The matter of Mizuki Hajime makes for a sticky situation-- usually, Fuji wouldn't hesitate to take out the trash, so to speak, but Yuuta is just so _attached_. As much as Yuuta dislikes him now, he doesn't think he'd earn any brownie points for mutilating his boyfriend, and so he lets the matter be-- with much supervision-- for the time being, at least. And as much as Fuji hates it, he can't help but be just a little bit happy when, as he tails the two while out on a date, he watches Mizuki make Yuuta smile in a way that he's never quite been able to. 

11) Fuji is also unabashedly attracted to his little brother. He cares little for society's mandates stemming from long-obsolete survival instincts, and he sometimes wishes Yuuta cared a little less, too. But Yuuta's always been one to blush and get flustered and yell "Aniki!" a little gruffly even when Fuji presses a chaste goodbye kiss on his cheek, and so Fuji doubts he'll ever get the opportunity. Besides, Yuuta's dating now, which really lowers Fuji's chances from slim to none.

That doesn't mean, though, that if Yuuta ever breaks up with Mizuki, Fuji won't give it another try. 

12) Fuji has slept with Mizuki, a few times. In his defense, it was before Mizuki was dating his little brother, while they were both still in the phase of gathering information about one another. On a physical level, Mizuki was a good lay, really; he knew what he was doing, and the whole affair had been interesting, captivating-- it had pushed Fuji's manipulative mind into new realms, something that rarely happened. It had been a little bit like sleeping with himself, honestly, which might have been disturbing to others, but intrigued Fuji, and while it was going on, his curiosity was piqued, he wanted to push father, farther.

Afterwards, however, it left an unfortunate aftertaste in his mouth, especially when "having slept with Mizuki" turned into "having slept with his little brother's boyfriend," and though he doesn't like to admit that it gets to him, he knows he'll never do it again. 

13) It's after the brief affair with Mizuki that Fuji first starts to notice Kawamura Takashi. Or, rather; Fuji knew he existed before-- he was the quiet boy in his grade who wasn't anything really special at tennis and who seemed simple enough that he wasn't even really worth Fuji's time. But right after the thing with Mizuki, when Fuji was still feeling a little off, a little sick to his stomach the next day at school, and this boy he had never given a second thought asked him if he was all right, Fuji wondered if, perhaps, he was worth a second glance, after all. 

It wasn't until later, when Fuji, distracted and stupid, turned his ankle at afternoon practice and Kawamura carried him all the way to the infirmary that Fuji decided for sure. 

14) Though he doesn't really flaunt it, Fuji's family is actually quite wealthy-- on the Regulars, he is, in fact, the wealthiest, though he's fairly sure he's the only one who actually keeps track. But, after all, they do send two children to private school-- and St. Rudolph, especially, isn't cheap-- and they bought his older sister that nice car; it shows if anyone cares to look hard enough. Fuji probably could have gone to Rikkai or to Hyoutei, maybe, even, if he wanted to, but he didn't, and he likes having the extra allowance to throw around on beauty products and cameras and the occasional pair of designer sunglasses, anyway. He's not particularly materialistic, but he likes having the money because it lubricates the path, just like being pretty does, to anything he wants-- it's another handle for control essentially. And it is nice to know that he'll get his pick of car when he turns twenty, too. 

15) Besides being useful, money is also a plus when it comes to Fuji's secondary hobby-- the one he does purely for fun-- photography. Unlike tennis, which is all about interacting with everyone else around him, manipulating people, playing the players, photography is all for himself. He has three cameras: a compact digital one for casual occasions, a larger digital one for most of his photography projects, and a physical film camera which he uses sparingly and only on things that are very important to him. It's odd, really; despite the fact that the film camera is the least convenient, the oldest, the plainest, Fuji still holds it in the highest regard. 

16) Fuji used to hate playing doubles-- it ruined his fun entirely. Not only was he no longer controlling all of the variables in his little experiments, but having a partner meant, in the most obvious sense, not having full control of the game. He had to trust someone, to depend on someone, and that was just not something Fuji did, ever. 

Yet, somehow, when he abruptly starts to be paired with Kawamura, Fuji finds himself minding less and less. Sure, he's still a little on edge; not quite comfortable, but, like getting into a hot bath, slowly, Fuji begins to relax, to enjoy, even, the feeling of someone having his back, someone to rely on. It takes time, certainly, but when Fuji realizes he's beginning to _trust_ , he's more surprised than he has ever been before in his life. 

17) He's not quite as surprised when he begins to realize that Kawamura-- now Taka-san-- is falling for him. After all, boys fall for him all the time, come stumbling to him with gifts and promises and requests to which Fuji smiles and never laughs no matter how much he wants to. But Taka-san is different, somehow, because he tries to hide it, and Fuji doesn't really understand why--after all, they're close by now, in the sort of way Fuji's close to Eiji, only different-- for quite some time.

But even if he doesn't get it, it's really very obvious; Taka-san is getting more and more flustered around him-- it's cute, really, and Fuji doesn't mind at all, so he doesn't say anything, because if Taka-san doesn't want him to know, he'll leave it be. Unlike Eiji, who's fun to tease, to make squirm, Fuji likes best to see Taka-san smile. (Somehow, he's blind enough not to notice the correlation between his own smiles and Taka-san's... he will continue to wonder far into the future how he ended up so impaired when it came to love).

18) He's even more surprised when, after Nationals in his senior year of middle school, he finds himself desperately wanting just to lean over and kiss his flushed, fumbling doubles partner. In front of everyone in Seigaku, right there at the dinner table. It's the sort of urge Fuji has never felt before, and it's downright unnerving. It doesn't make sense, it isn't entertaining, it isn't the sort of thing he's ever wanted to do. It's downright out of character.

19) He will never, ever be able to explain in words what his reasoning is for doing it anyway.

20) What happens after that will always be a bit of a blur to him (which doesn't make sense, either, because Fuji has an excellent memory), but he will remember one thing very distinctly: when Oishi and Eiji bid the rest of the Regulars good night and leave, hand in hand, Fuji, with his own hand wrapped in Taka-san's, feels as if something is odd. 

It's only later that he realizes it's the "patronizing amusement" feeling that's missing, replaced by a warmth that fills him up even more than anything "interesting" ever could as he rests his head carefully against Taka-san's shoulder and murmurs something that he thought he'd never say but knows is the truth, regardless.


End file.
